


Marked by a Sword

by rcrofoot



Category: None - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Fantasy, Gen, Original Character(s), Original Fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 19:02:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rcrofoot/pseuds/rcrofoot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While trying to defend her brother, Katsia finds herslf an unwilling heir of the country of Limen. With the country being in a century-long war and strange things happening throughout the land, Katsia has not inherited a peaceful nation. And when her life is threatened, Katsia must decide who she can trust, and just how she can save her homeland.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marked by a Sword

**Author's Note:**

> To me, the first chapter sounds a bit forced, but it'll pick up a bit in the next chapters.

Chapter 1

Sneaking past my brother’s room, I was careful to make sure I didn’t wake him. He gets pretty cranky if someone wakes him up. Climbing down the ladder to the kitchen, I was afraid the creaking would also wake my mother right below me. I walked to the pantry, pulling some eggs, bread, and herbs off the shelves and bringing them to the kitchen, hoping to get breakfast ready before my mother wakes up.  
About a half hour later, I carried a breakfast plate to the table. The smell of good food permeates the house. At least school has taught me one useful thing. I really am a good cook.  
Despite my amazing kitchen skills, my twin brother didn’t even glance up from his spot at the table. Tristan and his books. He reads more than anyone I’ve ever met, including myself, and that’s saying a lot. He’s one of the smartest kids I know.  
Although I can’t really call him a kid for too much longer. He’s already taller than I am, and even though he’s a bit gangly and uncoordinated, his shoulders are already getting broader, and muscle is starting to fill out his thin frame. If I didn’t know any better, I’d almost be tempted to say he’ll be attractive when he grows up. If he grows up.  
“Hey, Tristan!” I snap my fingers between his book and his face a couple times before placing the steaming goodness of my cooking before him. He swats my hand away and pretends to be disgusted, but by the time I grab a plate for my mother and myself from the stove and turn back around, his plate is already half empty. He gives me one of his goofy grins, and then proceeds to squeeze food out through his teeth. I can’t help but laugh at him. One of my brother’s greatest talents, in my opinion, is getting people, especially me, to laugh and relax.  
A talent not many appreciate these days.  
Even my mother cracks a smile as she steps from her bedroom, just catching his food-spewing act. I hurry to help her lace up one of her best gowns for her gig today. She and I take our place at the table, and her face melts back into its usual serious mask. It’s not harsh or unloving, just serious. She’s been like this ever since my father died two years ago.  
When my father’s casket came back from the war, and we all read the contents of the letter he wrote in case he died, my mother locked herself in her room and cried for days on end. When she finally emerged, she left all traces of sadness behind in that room, and I haven’t seen her shed a tear since that day. Not that she had the time to even if she wanted.  
When we lost my father’s income, my mother started working more. We were given a lump sum of money as compensation after he died, but my mother was smart enough to save it in case the time came when we really needed it. Instead, she started singing more. With a Focus in the Arts, she was able to start giving singing and painting lessons to younger children. I helped when I could by teaching them how to play certain instruments. That, combined with her extra gigs and we were well enough. We weren’t living in extravagance or anything, but we never went hungry.  
Now it was my brother’s turn to snap me back to the present.  
“You okay?” he mouthed as my eyes focused on his concerned face. I nodded silently. Tristan was the only one who knew how I still grieved for my father. I didn’t want to bring up unwanted memories for my mother, and everyone else would see me as weak for still being so attached to someone who has been dead for so long. But Tristan understood. I guess that’s one of the things about reading so much; you start to notice things others wouldn’t. I can never hide things from Tristan, just as he can’t hide things from me.  
Tristan looked hard at me for a few seconds, and then buries his nose right back into its book. I smile. He really does take after our father. With his blond hair and brown eyes, he couldn’t be mistaken for anyone but our mother’s son. But in personality, no one could doubt he was my father’s son.  
I, on the other hand, look exactly like my father. My dark brown hair and ice blue eyes are part of the few physical remnants of my father. It was our eyes that always set us apart. In Limen, most people have brown eyes. The few blue eyes that there are so dark there is almost no difference between them and the brown eyes of others. So our crystal eyes drew attention.  
My brother snapped at me again. My mother had already finished and was out the door, on her way to some rich family’s party to entertain the guests. I shoved the rest of my breakfast in my mouth, grabbed my violin and headed out with Tristan to make it to school.

I sat in my class, hating every minute of it. In my school, the boys and girls were separated into two separate classes. The boys learned fun and important things like archery and sword play and the like. And then I got to sit there learning how to sew and knit and crochet and all manner of other useless things. I used to make excuses to go watch the boys’ classes, but then on my eighteenth birthday, some people saw me in the hall and made a huge fuss. My teacher overheard, and that was the end of my observation days. At least I only had one year left after this.  
I wish the council of elders would just allow women to at least try their hand and swordplay. Maybe even let the boys take cooking or sewing classes. The only classes we were allowed to share were our dancing classes. The boys took dancing as part of their chivalry training or something like that. Other than that, all classes were separate.  
The council had been in place long before I was born, even before my parents were born. Originally, they were put in place to rule until the rightful ruler could be found, but through the years, the hope that an heir would rise up had all but died out, which meant the council could do as they please. According to some, there reign was the worst thing that happened to Limen. They hadn't resolved the war we had been in for about a hundred years. People were starving or barely making things work. To other countries, we appeared small and weak, ensuring that no one allied with us against the Ashens. It was the council who had separated our classes, forcing women to learn the domestic aspects of life, while men were taught the art of war. They believed it would make society more efficient and better prepare us for war.  
And at least there is no chance of me dying in my classes.  
All you have to do to succeed as a girl is show some proficiency in one Focus or another. Some of us are really good at sewing, others at cooking, writing, painting, music. The list of domestic jobs goes on for a while. I earned a double Focus when I proved I was just as good at cooking as I had always been at anything musical. A woman’s Focus determines her job, so I could have been a Cook or an entertainer, like my mother.  
The boys on the other hand, do not get a Focus. The men in our society are expected to perfect swordplay and archery. Any boy who cannot perform these skills doesn’t deserve a place in our culture. Or so they say.  
So they try to weed the weak out while they are still in school. Why pay to teach someone who isn’t going to learn? So the boys are taught enough for teenagers, and then when they turn nineteen, they are forced to prove themselves by fighting each other. The best fighters will have first choice at their future jobs. Those who win their fights will be propelled into intense training for whatever job awaits them in the future. The ones that lose don’t get a future. If they aren’t killed in their fight, then they are cast out, and are forced to make it on their own with no family, and no friends, leaving a lot of them to die anyway.  
Which means this week didn’t bode well for my uncoordinated brother. Maybe if they had just given him more time to finish growing, he would have been fine. We could already start to see him filling out, but his fight was later that week, and quite frankly, he didn’t stand a chance. I was more adept at swordplay than he was. I had begged my father to teach me the basics long ago, and I had peeked in his class every once in a while, and I was still better than him.  
He would be fine when it came to the archery and law tests, and he would pass the chivalry test with flying colors, he just wasn’t old enough to try his luck in swordplay. And that was what had me worried. I couldn’t lose my brother. My mother and I would be on our own, and I would have lost my best friend.  
He tried not to be nervous, but I could see it. When he thought no one else was looking, I could see how truly terrified he was. One fight would leave both of us completely alone  
I winced as I realized I was the only one left playing in the room. I timidly brought my violin down, perfectly aware of every eye glued to me. I barely got out a tiny “sorry.” My orchestra teacher looked at me for a moment, then gave me a sympathetic nod, clearly understanding where my mind was. The teachers really weren’t that bad, as long as you had some talent.  
As he raised his hands, I picked up my violin, losing myself in the music.

We started our half-hour long walk home after school that day, Tristan carrying both our bags. I took off my shoes and walked in my bare feet, glad to feel the grass between my toes. We went the long way home, heading through town first in order to pick up a few things for my mother before heading home. This made our half hour walk more like forty-five minutes.  
We were about ten minutes from our house when we had to cross the bridge that spanned the river running through town. Half-way across we ran into two guys, one was much bigger than the other, and was holding the second over the rail of the bridge, looking like he was about to toss him over. The second was apologizing, begging him not to let go. Not that it would have hurt him if he fell in the river; it was only a few feet deep and didn’t flow very fast, but it is pretty cold.  
“Let him go, Saric,” Tristan spoke up as we approached the two.  
The bigger guy glanced at Tristan, then me, then back at the other kid.  
“Fine,” he growled as he practically through kid number two to the other side of the bridge. He then started his way back toward the town, purposely bumping into Tristan as he walked by us. Tristan grabbed my arm as I turned to face the guy.  
“What’s your problem?” I yelled after him.  
He didn’t even look back. “He was,” he growled.  
I turned and found Tristan helping the other guy up. “You okay?” he asked.  
“Yeah, just a bruise and a few scrapes, but not anything to get too worked up about,” he said as he dusted himself off.  
“What happened?”  
“I don’t really know. We started walking across the bridge at the same time, so I tried to strike up a conversation with him. Next thing I knew, I was on the ground, and then dangled over the edge of the bridge. Then you guys showed up.”  
“I would stay clear of him for a while then.”  
“Yeah, no kidding. Thanks Tristan,” he called as he too continued toward town.  
“Are all of the guys such jerks?”  
“Not usually. For the most part, our classes are just as boring as ours. We just get to play with sharp things instead of instruments.”He sounded almost sad as he said it.

I sat in class later that week, feeling the seconds tick by until my brother’s fight. Five minutes before it started I asked to be excused to the bathroom. Ms. Stubforth gave me a knowing glance, but excused me anyway.  
I rushed to my brother’s classroom, careful to not be seen. I peeked through the window and there he was, up against the best in his class. I was surprised; I knew Mr. Shensi didn’t like Tristan, but usually the fights are a fair matchup. Maybe he didn’t want to waste time with the two people whose fates he already knew.  
Right from the start I could tell there was no hope for Tristan. He held his sword out awkwardly in front of him, barely able to fend off Saric’s blows. And Saric hadn’t even started yet, he was just playing with him.  
A line of elders at the far side of the room wrote down notes as they watched the fight, marking down mistakes and seeing whether the contenders should advance or not. They didn’t really need to write down anything for Tristan; it was pretty obvious that he was a terrible fighter.  
The room was very well-lit, and so quiet you could have heard one of the girls’ sewing needles hit the floor. The combatants fought in a depressed part of the room, in front of a pedestal with a huge sword on it.  
Saric got down to it. I watched in horror as he quickly broke through my brother’s ill-conceived defenses and disarmed him without breaking a sweat. Saric looked down on him, not with the look of disgust I had expected, but almost one of sorrow. He quickly snapped back, and glanced at his teacher who, to my disgust, encouraged him to take the final blow. Saric swung his attention back to Tristan.  
It all happened so quickly, I hardly registered what I was doing. Next thing I knew, I had burst into the room and, with every eye suddenly turning to me, grabbed the sword off the pedestal and disarmed a confused Saric. 

Every eye in the room was on me, standing over Tristan, and the teacher’s face quickly turned from a look of shock to one of burning rage.  
“How dare you?!” he growled, his quiet rumble loud in the now silent room. “A girl, in this room, touching Ferrum! It’s blasphemy! I should kill you where you stand.”  
“Enough,” one of the elders had stood, raising his hand to quiet the young teacher. Saric had retrieved his sword and, standing between the teacher and me, cast me an angry glare. I thought I caught something else as well, but it was gone before I could tell.  
“The very fact that she could lift the sword is enough to ensure her safety. We cannot be sure of how to handle the situation at present. Before anybody jumps to regrettable decisions,” he gave a pointed look at Mr. Shensi, “the council will need to consult the books.”  
Another elder shot to his feet. “You don’t mean to say that this girl…”  
The first cut him off. “I mean to say that this woman was able to lift a sword that should have been far too heavy for her. I, for one, would like to know why. If nothing else, this should be investigated before conclusions are made.”  
I was very conscious of the sword still in my hand. Keeping my eyes on the men around me, I tried to quietly put the sword back on its pedestal.  
My hand was still on the hilt as the first elder, and therefore everyone else, turned to look at me. “For now,” he said. “You should go home. Saric will accompany you for your protection.”  
Saric straightened and nodded, clearly biting his tongue to keep from saying something. I, on the other hand, had no intentions of letting this boy go anywhere with me. Especially not after he almost killed my brother and threw that boy into the river.  
“I don’t need protection, especially not from someone I disarmed.”  
This time Saric was quick to protest. “That’s only because you weren’t supposed to be here.”  
“So you were caught off guard by a girl. Some protection you’d be.” I snapped back, ignoring any and all social graces I possessed.  
“Enough.” The elder’s voice was deadly quiet. “It is not your place to question my judgment. Protectors need to be the same age as their charge. Given that Saric is clearly the best fighter your age, he is the logical choice.” His voice dropped even lower. “I expect you will not question my authority again.”  
I bit back any retort I had. Saric and the swordmaster were glaring daggers at me. Let them; there was nothing they could do about it now.  
A number of teachers had congregated at this point, having heard the commotion, and Tristan and I were ushered out of the room as Saric watched us go.0\

Once they were safely out of the room, Tristan staying very close to his sister, Saric stepped to Judah to get his orders.  
“Stay close to her; do not let her out of your sight. With her, she might easily try to escape your guard through a window or some other ridiculous plan. And Saric,” the elder said, looking him dead in the eye. “You were chosen because you are a good fighter, but also because you know the significance of what happened. Very few people do. I expect it to stay that way.”  
Saric nodded as Judah gave him further instructions on the job he never thought he’d have the opportunity to receive.

I had yelled at Saric the whole way home; he kept patiently responding that he was to see me safely home, then go pack his belongings so he could stay by my side until the council decided what to do with this new turn of events. I wasn’t sure what the big deal was; at this point, the question would be whether or not my brother and I got to live, and I knew I would defend my brother again, no matter how angry he seemed at me for having done it the first time.  
Tristan hadn’t spoken a word to me the whole way home. Although I wanted to know what his problem was, I wasn’t about to start the scene in front of Saric.  
The walk home was awkward at best, each of us having something we wanted to say, but none of us really ready to say it. I could feel the tension rolling of each of us. Home couldn’t come soon enough. I burst through the door, eager to be free of the eyes that had never left my back.  
“Katsia,” my mother approached me, coming out of her room when she heard me come in. “What happened?” I didn’t know if it was the look on my face that gave it away, or if the elders had gotten a messenger here already. Either way, I was not ready to have this conversation while everyone still seemed angry at me.  
“Nothing,” I responded, trying to make it upstairs before either of the boys could chime in.  
“Nothing?!” Both the boys were staring at me, and I turned to face them head on. You call that nothing?” And here I had been hoping for Tristan to speak to me. “You know what, you’re right. Picking up the Sword was nothing. Going against the laws, that was probably nothing, too. Interrupting a scene you had no business being a part of? No big deal. What in Limen were you thinking?!” His voice got louder as his little speech went on, until he was nearly yelling at me.  
“I saved your life! Why are you so angry with me?”  
“What. Happened?” my mother’s voice was nearly silent, forcing both my brother and I to face her.  
“She happened,” Tristan spat so venomously that I flinched. I had never seen Tristan so angry. “We had our Edicum today, and she barges in out of nowhere, grabs Ferrum, and disarms Saric. Right in front of the swordmaster, the elders, and everyone!”  
“What is your problem?” I asked facing him and matching his tone. “You’re alive, I’m alive. You wouldn’t be if it hadn’t been for me. So why are you so pissed?”  
“Tristan,” my mother interrupted calmly, effectively cutting us off once again. “What is this Ferrum?”  
A knock pounded at our door before Tristan could answer. The three of us stared at each other, none of us really sure what to do, or who it could be. My mother was the first to shake herself. She opened the door and Saric stepped through, pack over s shoulder.  
“No,” I said, not a whole lot coming to mind at the moment. “You are not staying here. I don’t need protection, and especially not from you.”  
Saric turned to my mother, introducing himself and completely ignoring m.  
“From now on only I open the door. And Katsia doesn’t go anywhere without me… or at least Tristan,” he added after a moment.  
“Why are you her guard?” My mother was always one to get right to the point. “Why not someone fully trained, someone who has experience?”  
“It’s the law,” Tristan interjected. “A Protector needs to be the same age as his Charge so that there is less chance of one taking advantage of the other. Someone older than Kat would be able to use their extra experience and ambitions to take advantage of her position and naïveté. On the other hand, Kat could take advantage of someone younger than herself by abusing their naïveté so that she could escape, or make an example of their life.”  
“Okay, but why do the elders think I need a Protector?”  
“You were able to pick up Ferrum. Kat, that hasn’t happened in years. Not even the elders can saw the last person who could pick it up. That sword is centuries old, from a time of magic. The magic users saw people coming to power who shouldn’t have been there; people who abused both the power and the people. So, the magicians took the sword of the last great ruler, and enchanted it so that his sword would tell who the next suitable leader would be.”  
I would’ve laughed, except Tristan’s face was dead serious. “You can’t try to convince me that fairytales are real and expect me to believe it.”  
“There is some measure of truth in all stories,” Saric said from his spot leaning against the wall to our small pantry. I glared at him briefly before turning my attention back to Tristan.  
“You were a little out of it when you grabbed Ferrum,” Tristan continued. “So you didn’t see it, but the sword adjusted its size and weight to yours. That was what had really caught Saric off guard.”  
Saric glanced between us.  
“If that’s true,” my mother voiced my own question. “Then why doesn’t everyone know about this?”  
“The elders tell certain family members based on who they believe the sword would choose. To avoid imposters and family rivalries, they’ve refrained from telling everyone, and they haven’t shared it with any of women because they didn’t believe the sword would only respond to a man’s touch. Those they did tell were sworn to secrecy.”  
“If they don’t allow everyone access to the sword, how do they know if they’ve overlooked the rightful heir?” I asked.  
“The teachers make Ferrum seem like a good luck charm of sorts, so everyone touches the sword at one point or another. The sword responds to its owner immediately, so if it doesn’t change the moment someone touches it, they know they’re not the heir.”  
“What am I the heir of?” I was afraid I already knew the answer to that question.  
“Limen, obviously!” Tristan had gone from teacher mode back to furious in a split second. “Weren’t you paying attention?”  
I couldn’t say anything. I was barely aware of my mother speaking hurriedly to Tristan. Saric was watching me intently. I tried to steady my feet and slow my breathing. My heart was beating too loudly in my ears.  
Saric grabbed my arm with one hand and out the other on my shoulder.  
“Pull it together, Katsia,” he said quietly. “Just breathe.”  
I closed my eyes and focused only o pushing air in and out of my lungs. When I finally opened my eyes, all three of them were watching me. I shrugged out of Saric’s grasp.  
“I’m fine,” I said, sounding unconvincing even to myself. “I just need something to eat, and then I need to lay down.”  
My mother quickly snapped into action, moving toward our tiny stove, pulling things out of the cupboards and pantry while she put water on the stove to boil. Saric pulled out a chair, which I ignored, instead sitting on the opposite side of the table. I didn’t see where Tristan had gone, but a small part of me was glad he wasn’t in sight; I didn’t think I could deal with his angry glares right then.  
Saric sat directly across from me, both of us sitting in silence while my mother finished cooking.  
I had thought a bit of food would help settle my stomach, but as my mother set the food down in front of us, taking her seat, my appetite fled. I managed to put a few spoonfuls in my mouth, but couldn’t handle much more.  
Tristan came in just then, sitting right next to me and handing me a book under the table. I peeked at it, noticing it was one of my father’s favorite books, one where the main character is a heroine who accomplishes what men think she cannot. Thinking of my father made me feel a little braver. I smiled at Tristan and squeezed his arm. He gave me a weak smile and went to grab himself a bowl of soup.  
My mother finished her meal as he sat down. Without a word, she rose, put her bowl in the basin, and locked herself in her room. She tried to hide it, but both Tristan and I could tell she was worried.  
“So what now?” I asked, desperate to break the silence and my own tension.  
“Well,” Tristan began, “There are very few people who understand the severity of what happened today. But those who did will most likely tell their families, and they will be none too pleased to find that a girl was chosen over their sons.”  
“A number of the council members won’t like it either,” Saric interjected. “Many of their families have been on the council for generations. They’re quite comfortable in their polished chairs and will take some convincing to get them on your side.”  
“Which is why you’re here,” I concluded. “And why I’m on lockdown for however long this takes.”  
“It shouldn’t take too long,” Saric assured me. “Judah, the elder who spoke to you, said he would present your case to the council himself.”  
“Wouldn’t he need to know what my case is?” Both boys turned and stared at me.  
“What do you mean?”  
“I mean, what if I don’t want this? What if I decide I don’t want to rule?”  
Saric scoffed. “Don’t be childish.”  
I faced him head-on, ready to hit him. He glared down at me as if daring me to do it. He had another thing coming if he thought I wouldn’t-  
“Katsia,” Tristan put his hand on my shoulder. “You could do a lot of good in a position like this; not to mention it’d be a great honor. The country’s been without a ruler for centuries now. You could be the one to finally bring the peace and stability we need to fix ourselves up and win the war.”  
“Come on! You really think I’d get the chance to rule?” They were both blind.  
“Well, if Judah-“  
“Even if Judah can talk the others into it, it wouldn’t matter. Like you said, they are all very comfortable in their polished chairs. I would barely be seen as an adult, and a woman at that. I would become a puppet for the rest of my life. No yo mention how people would react. The other guys in your class were ready to hurt me today, and as far as they were concerned, I just grabbed their prized good luck charm. What would grown men do if they were forced to submit to a woman?”  
"If anyone could do it, it'd be you," Tristan said. I was mentally exhausted, and didn't really pay attention to what I said. "Then there's not a whole lot of hope left for Limen." This had only made me feel tenser. I left them to consider the whole situation. I was in desperate need of sleep. I climbed up the ladder and down the hallway to my room, where I passed out as soon as my face hit the pillow, not even bothering to change.


End file.
